


The Road Home

by laniew1



Series: The Road Home [1]
Category: Without a Trace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-16
Updated: 2004-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23839624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laniew1/pseuds/laniew1
Summary: Thirteen years ago they had a series of one-night stands, a missing psychic brings them back together.Challenge fic for the Without A Trace alternate universe challenge.
Relationships: Martin Fitzgerald/Danny Taylor
Series: The Road Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717816
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	The Road Home

**Author's Note:**

> PSI Corp was ‘borrowed’ from Babylon 5.

**The Road Home**

The hotel was in the semi-middle class range. Something that Danny knew that he could never have afforded on his own. Something that he wouldn’t have wasted the money on in the first place.

But he wasn’t the one paying for it and he wasn’t one to argue when someone else was. Who was he to complain about how other people, rich people spent their money?

The someone who had paid for it was moving around the dark room trying to be quiet.

 _Trying_ being the operative word. Danny winced in sympathy as he heard him bump into something hard enough to make _it_ move and him curse. It had been seven days and Danny though he knew him well enough (or as well as he could under the circumstances) that he knew he didn’t swear, he didn’t drink… and from what little he’d said Danny got the impression he was angry at something or somebody. Of course when questioned he clammed up tight, mouth drawn into a thin line, eyes dark and furious at himself.

He wondered if he should say something; alert the other man to the fact that he was awake and watching.

He had a feeling if he did that he’d flee that much faster.

Marty no last name and he’d kept forgetting to ask. And he’d learned the first night that if he pushed Marty for more information than Marty wanted to give that he tried to bolt.

Danny wondered who he was hiding from.

Wondered if he was even legal. He was eighteen and to his eyes Marty didn’t look like he could be older than sixteen, maybe seventeen. Although if Danny was really, _really_ lucky he’d be at least eighteen and there wouldn’t be a statutory rape charge when someone realized that their little boy had been deflowered. Because there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that Marty had been as virtuous as the driven snow until he’d taken Danny back to his fancy hotel room.

Marty… at least he knew it was the other boys _real_ name and not something made up for the encounter. The bewildered expression on Marty’s face had told him that, like he couldn’t believe that he was actually telling Danny his real name. Besides the fact that no one would actually _choose_ Marty when there was so many other better names available for choosing.

Marty was dressed finally, faded jeans and the tight t-shirt that he’d had on the last six times they’d met and came back here together. And he’d taken some major ribbing about that from his friends, picking up the same guy, wearing the same clothes every time. Same strange medallion around his neck that Marty wouldn’t talk about. Danny had seen it somewhere, for the life of him he couldn’t remember where though.

But Marty… if he’d been a woman Danny would have married him. Because the sex had been nothing short of mind-blowing.

He thought this might have been the last, the goodbye fuck. And if he’d known that it was going to be the last time he certainly wouldn’t have fallen asleep. He would have had Marty screaming from the ceiling until the moment he tried to walk out the door, then Danny would have blackmailed him into staying.

He would have felt bad about it, but he had a feeling Marty would have thanked him later.

He closed his eyes quickly, trying to even out his breathing in an attempt to fake sleeping when he realized that Marty was moving towards the bed.

He thought he might have pulled it off when he felt the bed dip and Marty rake fingers through his short hair. He felt soft lips move softly against his and fought the urge to kiss back, to drag Marty back into bed and peel off the clothes that he’d just put on. A whisper of a caress down the side of his face and the bed shifted again and he heard the door open and close.

His eyes opened and he waited only a second before reaching his decision, Marty could yell and scream at him later. He wrapped the sheet around his hips and moved quickly for the door, only stumbling slightly when the sheet tried to trip him up.

Flung the door open and it was still night, a glance to the right, then the left and there was nothing there. A step and a half forward and he was at the railing, looking down four floors to the pool in the center of the hotel.

He was gone.

******************************************************************************

_Thirteen years later, Washington D.C., F.B.I. Special Crimes Task Force_

Martin Fitzgerald clipped his badge to the front of his jacket; hand sweeping over it to make sure the picture was forward and viewable. The guards in his office had been known to shoot first and check for I.D. last, he didn’t want to say they were trigger happy but he had a feeling they really liked their guns.

He rolled his shoulders slightly trying to discretely ease the tension mounting in his shoulders. Since he’d gotten the phone call that morning it had been steadily increasing. The fact that his father (the man who actually took suppressors and inhibitors to keep from dealing with his own abilities and had actually ordered Martin to never talk about his anywhere within his presence) had been the one who had called him had made the tension even worse.

To say his father disapproved of what he was doing with his life would be a massive understatement. Martin wasn’t sure what he could have done, save being born non-psychic like his sister and mother, to make the man even try to pretend he cared about him.

And it never ceased to amaze him that Victor had more of a problem with the psychic thing than he had with the gay thing.

A deep breath and he tapped sharply on the door to his directors’ office.

“Come in Martin,” Director Sandra Surry called out and Martin took a deep breath to brace himself before pushing open the door. He was only slightly surprised, and confident enough in his abilities to mask it, to see his father sitting calmly in one of the two chairs before the desk.

“Have a seat,” she offered throwing a congenial smile his way. Sandra was well aware of what his relationship with his father was like. She’d gone through school with his father, her silver hair almost matching his fathers at this point.

“Martin,” Victor nodded, acknowledging his presence for the first time. Eagle eyes tracking everything about him. What he was wearing, how he was holding himself, whether he looked pale or healthy (the last was for his mother he was sure).

“Dad,” he returned the nod, settling in the only empty chair in the office. Sandra held a folder out to him and he set it in his lap as he focused on her for the first time.

She looked tired, and he couldn’t be sure but he thought she was wearing the same outfit she’d had on the day before.

“Lets get right down to business shall we,” Sandra flipped open the folder on her desk, Martin noticing for the first time that his father had the same packet in his hands. Martin flipped it open and was confronted with a Precog report and a picture of a Level 3 psychic that he knew. He felt his heart thud and swallowed heavily.

He’d liked Carla, she’d been sweet and hadn’t tried to hit on him. And he was referring to her in the past tense, _that_ couldn’t be good.

“Carla Devite, missing for four hours,” Sandra began. “The Precog report indicates that she was taken from her apartment…”

Martin frowned, then finally sighed and raised his hand, feeling like a child, knowing that Sandra wouldn’t stop unless he did it.

“Martin?”

“If the Precog’s issued a report why wasn’t she issued extra bodyguards and her apartment swept?”

“The report was buried,” Sandra tapped fingers against her desk and Martin bit his lower lip as he studied her. “As you are aware with Devlin and half the Precog office out with various illnesses and injuries that particular office is severely undermanned, we’re taking measures to counter that. Carla’s report was buried, as were several others,” he noticed her glance over at Victor, noticed the way his fathers jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed and he thought a level 1 might have been able to figure out what Victors presence in the office meant.

His father had been found out, and Martin wondered how Sandra had talked him into stopping the inhibitors and using his gifts. He’d have to ask, Christmas was coming up and he wanted a pony.

“Your father has _graciously_ offered,” Martin bit his tongue, to keep from grinning or saying anything he wasn’t sure. He’d grown up with this man and his father had never been gracious and certainly never _offered_ to do anything. Maybe she’d blackmailed him? That would be to sweet. He’d have to find out with what.

“To take over day to day operations of the Precog office. I’d like you to go to New York City and assist the F.B.I.’s missing person’s office in any way you can.”

“Wait what?” Martin frowned, sitting up in his chair straight, positive that he hadn’t heard right. He didn’t get sent out on assignments, he was a desk jockey and proud of it. He ignored his fathers smirk and focused on Sandra, she couldn’t do this to him because she of all people knew exactly what was in the City and why he couldn’t go.

He’d found him six months ago and hadn’t been able to step foot in the city since then. He wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t sure if he’d _ever_ be ready to face that particular face from his past.

“I’m sorry Martin,” her smile was sweetly innocent and he could almost find it in himself to believe that she didn’t know what she was doing. Until she said, “Maybe he doesn’t remember you.”

He could be so lucky.

******************************************************************************

_Four hours later, New York City, Missing Persons Unit:_

Danny Taylor knew he wasn’t late. He knew this because his watch insisted that he had ten minutes before that was the case, so he valiantly tried to ignore the fact that Jack Malone was glaring at him as he walked towards the table, coffee cup in hand.

He knew it wasn’t slow; he’d just had the batteries changed.

He slid into his seat at the table, Samantha Spade (and he’d learned after their first day working together that she didn’t take jokes about her name lightly and had been known to exact punishment on those who told them) smiling sympathetically at him. Vivian rolling her eyes as Jack cleared his throat to get their attention.

They all turned their eyes towards him and Danny wondered if the other man ever felt any sort of discomfort, there had been rumors for years that Jack was actually a really sophisticated robot because he never showed any emotion (his brief affair with Sam not withstanding).

“Carla Devite,” Jack started tacking the small picture up on the board. Danny squinted, blond hair, blue eyes, pretty. She looked surprisingly young. “Missing for eight hours…”

Danny frowned, a glance exchanged with Sam while Vivian cleared her throat.

“Jack…” she started, cutting off when Jack turned his attention back to the table.

“She’s a level three psychic, and one of the three employed by the New York Supreme Court,” Jack stated quietly. No sound from the table, Danny figured everyone was in shock like him. Psychics were employed by the courts, being sworn in under oath meant a lot more than it used to when there was someone in the next room who could tell if you were lying.

He didn’t think he’d ever heard of one going missing; besides the whole psychic thing, most employed by the government had a least one bodyguard.

“Why isn’t PSI Corp investigating?” Sam was asking and Danny shook his head. PSI Corp, all psychics above a level three were in some way linked to PSI Corp. Most employed by the organization and then contracted out.

And they took care of their own, they had never asked for help from an outside organization.

“They’ve asked for us to conduct the preliminary investigation,” barely hidden bewilderment in Jack’s voice and their boss was just as befuddled by the whole thing as it appeared they were.

“Danny, Sam, the landlord is waiting for you at Ms. Devite’s apartment, Vivian phone records should be arriving within the hour,” assignments out and Danny bit his tongue to keep from asking what he was going to be doing.

It was none of his business anyway.

“Danny, Sam… there might be a psychic arriving from D.C. today, he’s part of the F.B.I.’s special task force. I’m not sure where he’ll ask to be taken first but…”

“He might show up on our doorstep,” Sam grinned cheekily, Danny smirking.

“Just… try not to shoot him. His fathers got some position of power and if anything happens to him while he’s here I have no doubt we’ll all be looking for new jobs.”

“I’ve got my eye on video store,” Sam grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair as they passed by it.

“Shoe store.”

“Shoe store?”

“Everyone’s always going to need shoes.”

******************************************************************************

_Carla Devite’s Apartment  
Missing: 9 Hours_

The door was open when they got there, landlord nowhere to be seen no sound from inside. Danny drew his gun, hands flickering out signals to Sam, gun also drawn, behind him.

A large man, muscles and scowls directed at them appeared to block their path and Danny arched a brow but didn’t lower his gun.

“Can I help you?” the voice was rumbling and seemed loud even though Danny was sure he was trying to be quiet.

“No actually can we help you?” Danny asked, gun still pointed even though his finger moved away from the trigger. This man was no threat. If he’d wanted to he could have had Danny and Sam both disarmed and on the floor without breaking a sweat. The fact that he was standing there calmly eyeing them had to mean something.

“You must be the people from the Missing Person’s Office, we’ve been expecting you,” the big man nodded like he’d expected nothing else and turned away from them. “Mr. Fitzgerald’s through here, he got tired of waiting, wanted to get started. Carla’s a friend of sorts,” he offered as an explanation as he led the way through the apartment. Danny put his gun away, noticed Sam doing the same thing behind him.

“Mr. Fitzgerald? Any relation to…?”

“Victor Fitzgerald? He’s my father,” a voice stated from behind them, Danny felt a shiver run down his spine and he couldn’t be sure but he thought he _knew_ that voice. Or had known someone that had that voice, once upon a time.

It was a voice from the past and Danny had been half sure that he’d never find him again; he’d searched since almost the day that he’d walked out of that hotel room and had never been able to find any trace of the other man. If he’d had a last name it might have been easier.

It had been thirteen years and a lifetime and he was seeing him again for the first time with Sam staring at him curiously and a large man that could break him in half by breathing hard staring at him sternly.

Well that ruled out scenarios 1-9 about how he’d planned their first meeting to go.

He turned slowly, to look for the first time.

He looked the same, and totally different. Suit and tie expensive, hair spiked slightly like he’d been dragging his hands through it, Danny wanted to drag _his_ hands through it right before he strangled the man for walking away without a backwards glance and then stripped him of every item of clothing and made him scream his name.

He didn’t care that it had been a one night (seven night) stand and he’d done the same thing to other people himself.

“Martin what have you been doing in there?” the big man was scolding, hands smoothing down Martin’s hair, taking the chain from his hands and settling it back around his neck and Danny wondered if the big man was his bodyguard or his keeper. Martin looked like he needed a keeper.

“I’m fine Andre, I just wanted to see what remnants if any were still left,” Martin was brushing the others mans hands away, which was a good thing because Danny thought Andre might win when it came to hand to hand.

“Martin,” Danny said slowly, tasting the name on his tongue. At least it had been his name and not something made up. Martin flushed, clearing his throat as he cast glances at Andre who looked smug and Sam who just looked confused.

“Hey Danny, long time no see?”

******************************************************************************

When Martin had thought about what it would be like to see Danny again he didn’t think he’d ever thought he’d be worried for his virtue.

Not that he _had_ any virtue; Danny had pretty much thoroughly obliterated _that_ the week that they’d spent together. It may have been thirteen years prior but he vividly remembered every second of it, and from Danny’s expressions he did as well. He bit back a smile and tried to focus on the task at hand.

It had been the most exhilarating time of his life and he had no doubt that if his father could have figured out who Martin had slept with that there would have been either a shotgun wedding or a shallow grave in the backyard.

As far as his father was concerned the fact that Martin was gay was nowhere near as bad as the fact that he was a Level 5 psychic who was planning on using his gifts. He could never figure that out.

The fight that they’d had over Martin’s acceptance into PSI Corp for training had been what prompted Martin to make the trek to Florida and allow himself to be very thoroughly debauched in the first place.

It had only been the cruelest of luck that he’d taken one look at Danny and never wanted to leave his side. If he’d had a choice he wouldn’t have, he would have taken Danny back to D.C. with him consequences and angry fathers be damned.

He ran his hands slowly over the wood of the dresser, trying to focus on Carla rather than the buzzing of Danny’s presence behind him. He didn’t remember Danny’s presence being this loud and it was starting to give him a mild headache.

He knew Danny didn’t like being ignored and Martin had half a mind to ask Andre to take him out of the room while he finished this because he couldn’t concentrate on Carla while trying to block out Danny.

“Anything?” Sam Spade, Martin had read the files his father had stoically shoved into his hands prior to his having left D.C. She was smart, intuitive. Very pretty and if he was straight he might have asked her out. As it was he wasn’t and the man with arms crossed alternately glaring at him and undressing him might have had something to say about it even if he had been.

Martin wondered if Danny had ever worked with a psychic before; if he had there was no reason for his shield to be this bad. Martin might have to train him before he could sleep with him again.

And he knew he would, sleep with him again. The want was like a pulse of energy between them and he licked suddenly dry lips as a particularly vivid image flashed into his mind.

He almost choked, as it was it took ten seconds and envisioning himself in an ice cold lake before he could even think about slowly turning. His eyes were as hooded and blank as he could make them under the circumstances and he watched as Danny smirked, chin raising defiantly. Daring him to do or say something.

Martin scowled, internally because it wouldn’t do to let the man know how he was affecting him even if later Martin was planning on tying him to a bed with his ties and punishing him.

He stared at Danny for just a second before turning back around. He trailed his hands down a picture on the bookcase, wondered absently why there was a can of Pledge and a washcloth laying next to it even as he tried to determine how to answer Sam’s question.

There were only minute traces of Carla in the apartment, nothing he’d touched had given him any information and unless she didn’t actually live in this space only another psychic would know how to clean the room and _that_ particular thought made him nervous as hell.

He saw the chain on the floor even as he was turning to face the group to tell them he couldn’t get anything. He was kneeling before he even realized that he’d moved and reached out a shaking hand to touch it.

He didn’t want to touch it, needed to touch it, he recognized it for what it was almost as soon as he saw it.

And when his fingers grazed the metal he groaned under the strain of it.

Terror. Pain.

Oh god.

His knees collapsed and he barely felt himself hit the floor. Didn’t hear anything besides Carla’s voice in his head, she was singing. Humming to the radio. Setting the can and cloth down she spun.

He blinked, vision hazy, tinted by red. Bad sign.

Carla rubbed a hand over her face, smiling to herself. The past, only… how far into the past? To far and it would be no help.

Would only tell them that she dusted while wearing faded jeans, t-shirt with Mickey Mouse on it. Hair drawn into a pigtail and a frown on her face.

She realized that she wasn’t alone; Martin flinched as the hand reached out to touch her shoulder. She turned and he mouthed a warning that she wouldn’t hear.

She relaxed, smiling at the man seconds before his hand struck her viciously across the face. She fell back against the bookcase; she cried out, Martin cried out hands flexing.

She reached a shaking hand to touch her lip, saw blood, spit angry words, tinged with betrayal at the man standing before her. She’d trusted him.

A gentle caress against her cheek and then pressure on her neck. The chain her PSI Corp medallion hung on being pulled taut against her skin. Martin skittered back, hands coming up to defend himself against nothing.

She fought back, nails digging, legs kicking out, shrieking in anger. The necklace gave and Carla was getting tired, she was on her back, still battling futilely. The radio was so loud.

Hands around her neck and Martin’s hands flew to his neck as Carla’s flew to her attackers hands. Trying to pry fingers loose, trying to gasp for air. Martin choked, wheezing, desperate.

Vision darkening, Carla stopping her fight.

Oh god, oh god

Martin cried out, hands lashing out defensively even as he felt Andre’s gentle, familiar presence behind him. Soothing words being spoken into his ear, strong arms wrapping around him tightly, holding his arms to his side so he wouldn’t hurt himself, or hurt others.

“Martin?” Danny’s voice, sounding younger than he’d been when they first met. Sounding scared. His vision still hazy but he could see Sam on a cell phone behind Danny, face flushed in anger as she spat something to whoever was on the other end. “Martin,” Danny’s hands soft on his skin and he felt wetness roll down his cheek and realized that he was crying.

Carla.

******************************************************************************

The trip to the hospital made Danny want to kill things; because the _Doctors_ and everyone that worked there were the most useless people on the entire planet Danny decided.

They’d taken one look at Martin, pale skin only able to stand because he was supported on either side by Andre and Danny and rushed him. Then they saw the medallion hanging on the outside of his shirt and declared Psychic backlash and released him immediately. No one had touched him or spoke to him or got him to speak to them. No one had even tried to take his temperature.

Danny fumed silently, Andre glaring him into submission as he explained in quiet words what had happened.

Martin had found the chain that Carla Devite’s PSI Corp medallion had hung on. Had touched it and witnessed whatever her final moments had been like and with the terror filled sounds that Martin had made there was absolutely no doubt in Danny’s mind that she was dead. They hadn’t even had the _opportunity_ to find her and he felt oddly cheated.

And Martin hadn’t said a word other than Carla Devite’s name since the whole thing, remaining silent, eyes blank, his head resting on Andre’s massive shoulder.

Danny had wanted to peel him away from Martin and then slide into his place, and if he hadn’t thought that Andre would break his arms he would have done it.

The elevator chimed softly and Martin started slightly. Andre murmuring something Danny couldn’t hear that Martin’s faced flexed into a fleeting smile for. Danny scowled and stepped off the elevator.

Jack wanted to talk to Martin, wanted to find out exactly what he’d seen.

Danny wanted to take Martin home and tuck him into his bed; the man looked like he was one step away from collapsing on them.

Jack had won.

“Agent Taylor,” Andre’s voice rumbled and Danny turned back to him, startled only slightly when Andre handed Martin off to him. Arm going around his shoulder and Martin kind of melted into him, eyes half open. Danny wondered if he even knew where he was. “He needs tea or he’s not going to be able to tell you anything.”

“Tea?” Danny stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Tea, with lots of sugar. Like you’d give a shock victim,” Andre smiled at him and Danny wondered if that smile was supposed to scare him or garner his assistance.

“I’ll take you,” Sam offered. A quick grin at Danny and she led Andre away.

“She’s dead,” Martin mumbled, rubbing his face against Danny’s shoulder like he was a sleepy child. It was sweet and kind of endearing and Danny allowed his head to drop against Martin’s for a second. Breathing in the scent of his shampoo and skin.

He smelled the same and how could that be after all the time that had passed?

“You smell the same,” Martin’s voice was a half-whisper and Danny almost jumped at fact that Martin had just voiced his thoughts.

He cleared his throat unsure of how to respond to that, then decided not to. Andre would probably break him in half if he didn’t have Martin sitting in a chair by the time he returned with his tea, so he took a step and Martin stumbled along with him.

57 agonizingly slow steps and he was sweating when he settled Martin at his desk (his chair was more comfortable), watching as the other man folded his arms on the desk and then laid his head down on them. His eyes closed, then reopened when Danny pulled a chair over and sat near him.

Not as close as he wanted to be because Jack was in his office, on the phone, but watching nonetheless.

Martin blinked at him, head still lying on his arms, looking young and innocent and so sad it made Danny wonder what Carla Devite had been to him.

“I tried to find you,” his voice was soft and Danny strained to hear him, fought the urge to stroke fingers across his cheek and coax him to sleep.

Danny didn’t say anything, wasn’t sure what to say to that anyway.

“I tried to find you,” Martin said again, his eyes closing again. “But I didn’t know what your last name was, and the hotel didn’t know where you’d gone.”

Danny bit his lip, pondering the chances of Jack actually believing him if he said he’d been offering comfort if he reached out and pulled Martin into his arms. Because he wanted to touch him, wanted to cling to him and never let him go and he wondered if that made him weak.

Martin’s eyes flew open again and he managed to lift his head for half a second before it fell back down onto his arms.

“Where’s Andre?” he slurred slightly and Danny did touch him then. A gentle hand on his arm, fingers stroking the skin through the fabric and he felt Martin shudder under the motion.

“He went to get you tea, does that really work for…” Danny waved his other hand, not moving the one touching Martin, “whatever.”

“Andre thinks it does,” Martin muttered, he forced his eyes open and stared at Danny through the tiny slits.

“It doesn’t?”

Martin snorted, a small grin. “Not the way Andre makes it. The sugar does help a little, but it’s really the pills in my pocket that I’ll take _with_ the tea.”

******************************************************************************

_“I tried to find you.”_

Martin looked about thirteen when he was sleeping Danny decided.

He wasn’t sure what or when exactly Martin had told Andre who Danny was to him but Andre had commandeered him to help take Martin back to the hotel and then had deposited him on the bed, told Danny to call if he needed help, grinned widely at him and disappeared into the adjoining bedroom.

Danny wasn’t sure what exactly he’d need help with, Martin hadn’t moved since Andre had laid him down. He hadn’t moved when Danny had move to lounge on the bed next to him because the sole chair in the hotel room was making his back hurt either.

He missed the hotel room they’d used in Florida, that one’d had a living room type thing. Obviously the Special Crimes Task Force didn’t think their agents needed anything besides a bed, a table and a TV.

The tea (which hadn’t been tea so much as a cup of sugar with about three tablespoons of tea) which Martin had made a face at before taking a sip and then giving up and dry-swallowing the two pills he took from a prescription bottle in his pocket had allowed him two hours to tell them what he’d seen.

Carla was dead. Killed by someone that she knew, someone that Martin said quietly had to be a psychic. Because the only actual remnant of Carla in the whole apartment had been the chain that her killer had pulled from her neck.

Martin had sounded devastated and when he’d lowered his head, breathing shallowly in what Danny had realized was his way of keeping himself from crying Andre had told them that Carla had been a friend. That she and Martin had gone through PSI Corp training together.

Andre had put a stop to all questions after that, telling Jack that if he had any others that they’d have to wait until the next day. He’d pulled Martin to his feet, and announced that Danny would take them back to their hotel.

He turned his head and realized that Martin was awake, sort of and smiled at him.  
“Danny?” Martin’s voice in a half-whisper, sounding raspy and more than a little lost.

“Hi, you should go back to sleep,” Danny kept his voice soft.

“…dream?” Martin’s eyes were still closed and his voice was so quiet that Danny had to strain to hear him.

“No dream,” Danny turned on his side, a gentle stroke down Martin’s cheek, Martin hummed a pleased sound and his eyes were still closed. Danny didn’t think he was even really awake.

He rolled and settled into Danny’s side, arm slung over his chest, head heavy on his shoulder and Danny guessed that unless Andre peeled him off that he wasn’t going anywhere until Martin said he could.

“You’ll be here,” Martin mumbled tiredly.

“Unless Andre kicks me out,” Danny grinned at nothing and valiantly resisted the urge to kiss Martin’s forehead. It was right there after all.

“He likes you.”

And he was kind of glad for that fact, if Andre hadn’t liked him Danny might fear for his life if Andre came into Martin’s room unannounced and saw the way Martin was currently winding himself around him.

He fumbled for the remote, shutting the TV off. He wasn’t going anywhere, the TV only got four stations and he had a feeling that if he wanted to have a conversation with Martin when he woke up that he might want to have had some sleep beforehand.

He linked one hand with Martin’s, gratified when Martin didn’t pull away and instead squeezed his hand. He used his other arm to pull him closer, then ran through every un-arousing thought he could think of because Martin was unconscious and it wasn’t fair to take advantage of him while he couldn’t participate.

A deep breath and he closed his eyes.

“Night Martin.”

******************************************************************************

Martin was going to be the death of him Danny realized. And did he really want to have a relationship with someone that could drive him this insane?

When he’d finally gone to sleep he’d expected to wake in the morning with Martin wrapped around him, they’d have breakfast and calmly discuss where they wanted their relationship (and he had no doubt that they were going to have one) to go.

Obviously he should have shared these assumptions with Martin. Because when he’d woken it had been alone and had only been because Andre was looming over the bed looking distraught.

At least he’d left a note, taped to the back of the door and Danny had insanely wondered where he’d _gotten_ the tape. As far as he knew most hotels didn’t stock tape in their rooms so unless he’d called down to the front desk for it Danny wasn’t where it had come from and then he’d realized that he was babbling internally and that it didn’t really matter where in the long run that Martin had gotten tape. What mattered was that he'd left a note taped to the back of the door and left the safety of his hotel room.

And he hadn't taken his bodyguard or Danny with him.

So he’d woke up, gotten dressed and vanished. All without waking either Danny (who was a pretty light sleeper usually) or Andre in the other room.

Andre was _not_ happy about that and Danny wondered how old he thought Martin was.

“Damn boy thinks that he can just wander around town by himself.”

Danny had refrained from mentioning that Martin was an adult and not a child that needed to be taken care of.

Still he didn’t really relax until Martin had arrived at the office. Brushing Andre’s remonstrations aside, avoiding Danny totally and all Danny could do was just note that he looked well-rested and slightly happier. Trying to ignore the fact that Martin hadn’t said a word to him or looked at him since he’d walked in. Trying, unsuccessfully at that, to quell the butterflies in his stomach that reminded him that Martin had no reason to stay because his job was in D.C. and he’d undoubtedly only been loaned out to them because the victim was a friend and psychics worked better with people they knew.

Whether they were dead or alive.

When they took their seats at the round table, Carla Devite’s picture and their timeline still on the white board Danny almost had to tackle Sam to get the seat next to him.

“They found her body,” Martin announced, sounding relieved. He stared at the cup that Andre had set in front of him and Danny suddenly realized that he was concentrating on that so he didn’t have to look at up and see Carla staring back at him.

A glance at Jack showed that the older man had figured that out as well, Jack gently prodded Martin for more information as Sam slowly stood. She pulled the picture down and wiped the evidence of Carla from the board. When Martin looked up he smiled gratefully at her and then frowned at his cup of tea, the same version of non-tea that Andre had made for him the day prior.

“I called her mother this morning,” Martin said almost absently, a finger traced a circle repeatedly on the top of the table.

“Are you staying in the city for the funeral?” Sam asked quietly, a quick glance at Danny as she retook her seat and Martin shook his head.

“Carla was born and raised in Virginia. I made arrangements for PSI Corp to transport her body to a funeral home there and her mother will take over from there.”

“So you’re not staying,” Danny stated it simply, hands clenched in fists under the table and Martin met his eyes for the first time.

“I’ll be back.”

******************************************************************************

Danny had to wonder if when Martin said he’d be back if he’d meant in this lifetime or some other one.

He hadn’t even used the phone number that Andre had shoved into his hand, the big man looking at both him and Martin like they were idiots.

It had been two months since Martin had left. The funeral of Carla Devite had made all the newspapers and Martin had been visible in all of them. Standing to one side of the woman who had been identified as Carla’s mother, Andre hulking behind him, his father on his other side.

Danny hadn’t even been aware until the first article had come out that Victor Fitzgerald had been the one who Martin had probably inherited his genes from.

For some reason he’d thought that it was Martin’s mother that had supplied that whole gene even though everything that he knew about it (and he’d done some reading since Martin left) insisted that it was the father who determined it.

Almost eight weeks to the day Martin had left found Danny in front of his television, soda in one hand, bag of chips resting beside him, yelling at the baseball game on screen.

The sound of someone knocking on the door therefore annoyed him, and he contemplated for about six seconds not answering it. But the TV was loud so whoever was out there interrupting his simple joy at having a Saturday off knew that someone was home. He set his soda down, left the chips where they were and kept his eyes on the TV as he opened the door open.

He glanced at the man standing there, looked back at the TV and then quickly back at the man. His mouth was open and no sound emerged and Martin just smiled at him.

“Hi Danny.”

“How did you know where I lived?” he blurted out and that so wasn’t what he’d intended to ask. That wasn’t even important, he should have asked how long he was in town for, whether he was staying this time, if he thought they might have sex again within the current century.

Martin flushed, shifting on his feet as he stared at the ground quite obviously embarrassed and this was going to be good.

And then Danny realized that they were still standing in the open doorway and Ms. Krenshaw who lived across from him was going to be peering out her peephole watching the whole thing. He grabbed Martin’s arm and yanked him in, smirking at her door before shutting his and then he rested his back against it and just stared.

“Andre said he gave you my number,” Martin was talking now, hands moving and he hadn’t lost that flush. “But you never called and…”

“What took you so long?” Danny managed to cut him off because Martin looked like he was going to work himself into a having a fit if he didn’t calm down and Danny figured he should input something into the conversation.

Martin peered up at him under lowered eyes lashes, looking demure and innocent and Danny grinned suddenly. “Well it takes a lot to close up an apartment, and I just couldn’t leave my boss in a lurch so I had to train my replacement, and then I had to find a job here so…”

Danny cleared his throat and moved forward slowly, hands out like Martin was a skittish animal that he was trying to convince not to hurt him and touched his face gently.

“You’re staying,” he said, summarizing Martin’s convoluted explanation.

Martin flushed again even as he leaned into Danny’s touch. “Well I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

Danny laughed suddenly and yanked Martin into his arms, holding him tightly. Grin so wide he thought it might break his face. “One more week and I was going to go looking for you.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” Martin murmured, kissing his neck. Arms wrapping around him to hold him as well. He relaxed in Danny’s arms, head resting on his shoulder like he was suddenly tired.

“Why?”

“The guards in my building like their guns,” Martin laughed softly and Danny laughed with him.

“Well boys like their toys.”

Martin laughed again and then tightened his grip, holding Danny like he was afraid if he let go he’d disappear.

They didn’t talk about what Martin was going to do for a job. If he’d had to put money down Danny thought he might be taking the job that had so recently been vacated by Carla Devite, her murderer still at large, Martin would want to be there when he was brought to justice.

They didn’t talk about the future, not what Martin had told his father about Danny, if he’d told him anything. Not about the fact that Jack _might_ have a small issue with the fact that Danny was embarking on a relationship with another man.

Of course if he did there was always the whole shoe selling thing to fall back on and Danny didn’t think he’d have that hard a time convincing Martin to embark on it with him.

They didn’t say anything, they held each other and murmured softly talking about nothing and everything and knew that they would take everything that was shot at them day by day.

That was the only way to do it after all.


End file.
